


Build a little world (with me)

by isleofdreams



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Christianity, Gen, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isleofdreams/pseuds/isleofdreams
Summary: It's not easy to love someone.It's definitely not easy to love someone when it's considered a taboo, a sin that sends you to hell.But in a small town, where love between two of the same gender is strictly forbidden, two boys slowly starts to fall for each other. A small spark that struggles to stay alive, a small flame that's vulnerable.Will it burn out?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 264





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, and welcome to another long project that i've been working on :)
> 
> some things to clear before we jump into the book: these are merely dream and george's persona. this fic do not represent their religion or their sexuality in any way at all, and some of the information might be used in this fic, or it may be twisted to fit this fic. please do not shove this into their faces, and respect their boundaries. if any of them express any discomfort with fics, this will be taken down immediately.
> 
> another note: in order for this to stay in their personas, i will not be using dream's real name in this. yes, it's a serious fic, and dream has expressed that he's fine with his real name being used, but its a personal boundary for me. i hope you understand this
> 
> DISCLAIMER: any names and events that are mentioned are **fictional and purely coincidental**. 
> 
> just a heads up: this fic involves talking about religion. ive tried my best to research and ask around people who are more experienced than me in this topic, and if i had made any mistakes, please point it out. also, please keep an open mind when reading this fic.
> 
> there will be a lot of touchy subjects, but content/trigger warnings will be added in future chapters.
> 
> its my first time writing a long fic after multiple oneshots, so im really excited. i hope you guys are too :) im trying out slowburn so heh
> 
> enjoy!!

**_Autumn, 1999_ **

Dream is merely five, walking into the unfamiliar compounds of the school with a mix of excitement and fear running through his veins. He is looking forward to his first day in kindergarten, barely able to sleep last night as he thought of the endless possibilities and wonders of school.

And friends, how could he forget? He is looking forward to making new friends, to play around with kids of his same age. He doesn’t have to feel lonely anymore.

He tugs on the bright red straps of his backpack, the multicoloured building looming over him. Holding onto his mum’s hand, a wave of uncertainty washes over him, and he glances up at his mum nervously. A squeeze of reassurance from his mum calms him down a little, and a small smile forms on his face. Looking around, kids of the same age are headed in the same direction as him, their parents by their side, and he feels better.

“See? It’s alright, you’re going to make tons of friends, Dream,” his mum pats his head fondly as they walk up to the front gate, where a young lady is standing, greeting everyone who passes her with a friendly smile. 

“Oh, hello there! What’s your name?” she smiles, leaning down. “I like your backpack!”

“Thank you!” Dream lets out a toothy grin, swinging his body in glee. “Red is my favourite colour, especially on cars!” He then makes a noise similar to a car’s engine, waving his hands around akin to a car drifting, and the lady laughs in delight.

“Sweetie, tell Miss Summer your name,” his mum coaxes him, and he closes his eyes as he tries to recall the speech that he had rehearsed the night before with his mum on his introduction, only to remember nothing. Glancing back up at his mum, he pouts a little, tugging on her hand.

“Mummy, I forgot my uh… my words?”

His mum merely laughs in amusement, her green eyes twinkling in happiness as she squats down and presses a kiss on his cheek, ruffling his hair in the process. He scrunches up his nose, frowning as he reaches out to pat his messy hair down.

“It’s alright. Just tell Miss Summer your name, alright, love?” 

He can see Miss Summer looking at him with a gentle smile, patient for his answer. Immediately, he lists her as his favourite teacher. Biting on his lip, he looks back up, fiddling with his fingers. 

“I’m… my name is Dream.” 

“Nice to meet you, Dream! Now, are you ready for the first day of school?”

Dream grins, jumping up and down. “Yeah!”

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go, honey,” Dream’s mum says, and Dream suddenly feels sad. Turning to his mum, he clings onto his mum’s legs, not wanting to let go. He can feel hands wrapping around his shoulders as he falls into his mum’s warm embrace. “Be good in school, okay?”

He pulls away reluctantly, but he lets go of the hem of her shirt. “Okay! Bye bye!”

A wave from his mother, and soon all he can see is her silhouette as she turns around and walks back to where they came from. He turns back to Miss Summer, who watches the entire scene quietly as the mother and son say their goodbyes, and soon he feels horribly lost without his mother by his side.

“Miss Summer?”

“Yes?”

“Where…” he looks down awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Where do I go?”

“Oh, right, sorry!” she says, holding her hand out, and Dream takes it, grateful to have someone leading him in this foreign situation. “Here, I’ll bring you to your class, alright? You can meet your new friends there.”

He follows her down a path, where flat rocks cover some parts of the flat grass, a thin layer of moss creeping at the edge of the smooth surface. He spots a playground near the building, the slide and swings waving at him, as if tempting him to play with them. He bites on his lip as they pass a few crying kids, and holds onto Miss Summer’s hand tighter. He watches as they pull on their parents’ clothing, holding onto them as if for dear life, while their parents try to comfort them.

“Esther? Can you check which class Dream is in?”

He looks away from the sobbing mess, and standing in front of him is a plump lady flipping through her clipboard full of papers, her white hair tied up neatly in a bun. She looks back down at him, squinting her eyes as if scrutinising him, and suddenly he feels incredibly small and uncomfortable. He looks away and stares at another boy, who is fiddling with his fingers, and a loud ‘aha!’ catches his attention again.

“He’ll be in Ocelots,” the lady, Esther, says, her high-pitched voice laced with cracks making Dream dislike her a little more. As Miss Summer leads him away from Esther, he can feel her beady eyes stare into his back. His grip on his backpack tightens a little.

He starts counting the doors as he follows Miss Summer further into the building, and they stop at the fifth door. A paper containing the cartoon of a cheetah is pasted on the orange door, underneath it lanky letters that spell out ‘ocelot’. Miss Summer pushes open the door, and the sight of other kids staring at him makes him shy. 

He attempts to hide behind Miss Summer, but she nudges him towards another lady gently, and Dream feels a little sad that he has to leave Miss Summer behind. Crossing the classroom to meet his new teacher, he turns around and waves a goodbye to Miss Summer, who reciprocates the action, softly closing the door behind her. 

There are words on the blackboard, some written in different coloured chalks than the others, so he reads them silently, stumbling on a few. The teacher smiles at him warmly, and he glances around the small classroom, which is barely filled. He’s early.

“Hey there, what’s your name?” Her voice is soft as she reaches over for her file of documents, taking out a single piece of paper. The classroom is filled with small chatters coming from his classmates, and he feels nervous, so he stutters a little when he gives his name to her. She lays a hand on his shoulder, an understanding look on her face.

“It’s alright, Dream. There’s no need to be scared. Look, why don’t you go and sit down, make some friends?” 

He turns around, and his eyes scan across the different seats, where various children of his age have already occupied. They are talking among themselves, which frankly, makes Dream a little scared, so he stands there for a moment, fiddling with the hem of his uniform.

However, someone catches his eyes. A boy with brown hair is sitting by himself at the back of the class, not participating in any of the conversations as he focuses on the notebook in front of him, seemingly doodling something. Dream feels bad for him, so he makes his way to the boy, putting his bag on the yellow seat beside him. The boy seems to jump at the sudden movement, and looks up at Dream.

“Hi, my name is Dream,” he says, sitting down. The boy bites on his lip, his grip on his pencil tighter as he freezes a little at the attention that he is given. Realising that Dream poses no threat, he lets out a small smile.

“I’m George,” he whispers, and Dream tilts his head. 

“You sound different,” Dream blurts out, but George merely ducks his head, suddenly concentrating on his notebook in front of him, doodling random nothings onto the lined papers. He looks a little hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” Dream apologises.

“It’s alright. I’m not from here,” George shrugs, though his entire posture is still tense. Dream glances at his notepad, which is filled with little flowers and smiley faces.

“Oh? Where did you come from then?” Dream asks, and through his peripheral vision he sees another girl entering the classroom, her long hair in pigtails. George’s hand moves to complete another drawing of a stickman.

“England.”

Wherever that is.

“Like, you flew here?”

George nods, not caring to elaborate more as he sketches a fish. Dream watches as George starts with the tail, the tip of the pencil stroking the paper gently to make a light mark. He then moves on to the body and the head, adding small fins to the top and bottom of the fish. With a dot representing its eye, he adds his finishing touches by giving the fish a smile.

“That’s cute,” Dream says, leaning over to stare at the fish, but George flinches and pulls it closer to him, his right arm covering the surface. Dream leans back, pouting a little. “What’s its name?”

George looks at it a little, and the fish seems to stare back at him, its smile frozen in place. “Uh… I- I haven’t thought of one yet. Dolphin?”

“Isn’t dolphin an animal?” Dream asks. George glances at him, still holding his notepad firmly between his fingers, as if he’s afraid that Dream is going to rip it away from him. “Never mind, Dolphin’s a pretty cool name.”

George relaxes a little beside him, though he is still high on alert. As he opens his mouth to say something, the teacher stands up, gaining both Dream and George’s attention. However, it takes her a few more tries to gather the rest of the class to focus on her, but once she does, she clears her throat and gives a warm smile.

“Hi! I’m Miranda, and I’ll be your teacher!” she says, her voice light and bouncy, and Dream swings his legs beneath the table as he props his chin up with his hands, his elbow supporting him. George’s hand is still holding the pencil loosely, though he’s biting the blunt end of it now.

“Let’s share our names, shall we?” she claps her hands, and walks over to a table, where a red ball is sitting, and picks it up. “I have a ball, so if you get the ball, you’ll have to tell us your name, favourite colour, and favourite animal, okay?”

A chorus of ‘okay’s ring through the entire class as eager kids await for the little activity. She lightly throws the ball to a girl who’s sitting at the front. She catches it, albeit clumsily, and fiddles with it as she stands up, turning to the class. 

“Hi, I’m Sylvee,” she says, giving a small wave, playing with the hem of her shirt. “I.. uh, I like… purple, and my favourite animal is a cat.”

She passes it on to the boy behind her, and he follows her actions as he stands up and introduces himself. Dream watches as the ball gets thrown around, trying to remember everyone’s names as George’s feet tap rhythematially on the wooden floor. 

The ball is soon passed to him by a boy named Techno, who is shaking slightly. Dream receives it, and stands up. Suddenly, all eyes are on him. He bites his lip, staring at the smooth, bright surface of the sphere, trying to recall the words that he had memorised the night before. He looks back up at the blackboard, where the words ‘name, animal, colour’ are written neatly, and takes a deep breath. George is staring up at Dream, his eyes wide in concentration as Dream squeezes the ball a little.

“Hi… I- uh, my name is Dream. And I- uh… my favourite animal is lions, and my favourite colour is green,” he says, before passing the ball to George as he scrambles to sit down. George looks at him, freezing as he holds the ball, unsure of what to do next. Dream nudges him by the shoulder, and George stares back up at him. Shakily, he stands up.

“My name’s George, I’m- my favourite animal is a cat, and my favourite colour is blue,” he whispers, rushing through all his words, some of his syllables jumbling up. He gives an awkward smile as he throws the ball to the girl to the left of him, smoothing out the creases of his uniform when he sits back down. 

“You like blue?” Dream tilts his head, and George looks at him.

“Well, yeah. That’s the coolest colour,” he replies matter-of-factly, his fingers finding its way around the pencil again, finding some sort of comfort with the instrument. Dream watches as George draws another flower at the corner of the page.

“Green is still the best,” Dream mumbles. “Don’t you wanna listen to our friends?”

“What?”

“They’re saying their favourite animals and stuff, so…” 

“Well,” George shrugs as he continues his doodling. “I know ‘em, so I don’t gotta listen to ‘em.”

Dream’s eyes widen. “Wait, you know them?”

“Yea, I’ve been here before,” George says, and Dream suddenly feels a little envious of George. “The girl over there Niki, and the girl beside Niki is Minx.”

“Really? No way,” Dream picks at his fingers, but George only shrugs, a knowing smile on his face as he flips his notebook to a fresh page.

“Yes! Look.”

As soon as the girl beside George finishes her introduction (he assumes it’s Niki, since he has missed out on her name talking to George), he pays more closer attention to the next girl as she stands up and introduces himself, a strange aura of confidence surrounding her as she introduces herself without a stammer or even a hint of hesitation. 

“Oh.”

“See, I told you!” George looks at him with this stupid glint of pride, a small smile lingering on his lips, barely noticeable. “Believe me now?”

Dream looks away, crossing his arms as he huffs, his face a little red from embarrassment.

“Whatever.”

George hums, and goes back to his doodles, a small heart shape at the centre of the page.

Barely noticeable.

( ... ) 

The pouring rain is beating heavily on the thin metal roof, drumming loudly over Dream’s head as he sighs, watching the droplets fall and land on the soft, moist grass. He frowns as a frog croaks in the distance, and Dream watches as it hops off into another puddle, disappearing from his view.

He is standing outside, his right arm outstretched as his hand tries to catch the raindrops. They slide off through the gaps in between his fingers, his eyes following the motion, entranced. His hand is cold, but he doesn’t retract it, instead watching the rhythmic yet random droplets fall onto his palm, trying to distract himself from the disappointment of not going to the playground bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. 

“Dream? What are you doing out here?”

“The rain,” Dream answers, and he sees Miss Summer mimic his actions as she raises her arm and feels the rain.

“You like the rain?”

Dream nods. “Can we play?”

He looks up at her, pouting a little when Miss Summer merely gives him an apologetic smile, followed by a ‘no’. His arm falls in disappointment as he stares at the ground, where raindrops split into fireworks of water as soon as they hit the surface.

“We can play inside with your friends. Besides, it’s cold out here, isn’t it? We don’t want you to catch a cold,” she says, and reaches out a hand, which he reluctantly takes. She leads him inside, and he turns around to look at the rain longingly for the last time before the warmth of the kindergarten welcomes him back inside. 

“Where have you been? God, look at you, you’re all _wet_!” As soon as he steps into the building, Esther is beside him, chiding him as she pulls at his wet sleeves, scoffing a little at his state. Dream holds onto Miss Summer’s hand tighter, reluctant to let go of the only person he trusts as he leans away from Esther.

“We’ll just get him a new set of uniform,” Miss Summer says, and Esther clicks her tongue in annoyance. Dream frowns.

“Well, tell Miranda to take care of him! He seems to be a troublemaker,” Esther waves her hand in the air as she dismisses the two of them, walking back into her office. Miss Summer only gives her a smile as she leads Dream down the hallway.

“I don’t like her,” Dream confesses, and Miss Summer laughs.

“Dream, you can’t say things like that! Besides, she’s your headmistress,” Miss Summer scolds him, but a smile still lingers on her lips. She brings him to the storeroom. “Wait here, I’ll fetch you some new clothes.”

Dream shudders, hugging himself a little tighter as the wet fabric clings onto his skin, making him uncomfortable. He stares at a nearby mural, where a family of elephants is walking across a field. Miss Summer emerges from the room with a fresh set of uniform and a towel. She wipes his face first, and Dream lets out a frustrated noise as his vision is blocked, earning another laugh from Miss Summer. After drying his hair, she proceeds to wipe his arms and legs.

“Here, go and change. Toilet’s right there,” she passes him the clothes, and he wastes no time in walking towards the wooden door. Miss Summer holds the door open for him as he steps on the cold, marble tile. He quickly takes off his clothes, throwing them onto the floor and putting on the new set, instantly feeling better. 

Pulling on the door to signal that he’s done, Miss Summer lets him out. He holds onto the wet clothes awkwardly, then passes it to her hesitantly. She gives him a plastic bag, and he puts the clothes in, tying a knot, like how he does with his shoelaces. Holding onto the bunny ears, he holds Miss Summer’s hand again, this time going back to his classroom.

“Miranda? Dream’s here,” she says as she opens the door. The worried look on Miranda’s face washes away into relief as she walks over to the duo. “He was outside playing with the rain and got wet, so I got him some change of clothes.”

“Thank you, Summer,” she smiles, and Miss Summer gives her a nod before saying goodbye to Dream and leaving. The entire class is staring at Dream now, and he looks down, biting on his lip as he plays with the handle of the plastic bag. “Dream, next time you wanna go out, you have to tell me, alright?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shuffling his feet as he scratches the back of his neck. “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad, Dream,” she says, and Dream looks up. “I’m just worried. Just tell me next time, okay?”

“Sorry,” he says again. 

“Apology accepted. Now, go join your friends,” she nudges Dream by the shoulder, and he runs to his seat, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as he quickly shoves the bag full of wet clothes into his backpack. 

“Where’d you go?” George asks, putting down the pieces of Legos that he has as he looks at Dream. “You’re wet.”

“Outside. The rain is pretty,” Dream answers as the class resumes their normal chatter among friends, focusing on either colouring or playing. 

“We aren’t supposed to go out when there’s rain,” George frowns, but he picks up the pieces again, examining them in his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Dream mumbles. “What’s this?” He picks up a white piece, and George snatches it back, putting it back to the pile of colourful bricks. 

“George,” Miranda warns. “You’re supposed to share.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, before giving Dream back the white piece, not making eye contact with Dream. Dream only gives him a giddy smile as he tilts his head, watching as George adds another black piece to his building. “It’s a house.”

“House?”

“Yeah.”

Dream stares as George picks up a green piece, fumbling with it before putting it back to the pile. His hands dip into the bricks, and the clashing of plastic momentarily covers up the soft knocks of rain on the windows and the buzzing conversations between his classmates. His face lights up when he spots a piece he wants. He shows it to Dream.

“Help me find this.”

It’s a blue, rectangular piece. Dream hums as he sticks his arm into the box full of Legos, pulling the box closer to the both of them as they search for the pieces, pulling them out. George goes back to building as soon as Dream finds a piece, and it’s almost rhythmic: Dream digs out the pieces, and George adds it to his work.

George shows him another piece that he needs, and Dream searches again in the sea of bricks. Some of the Legos fall out of the box, but George only chucks them back in. Slowly but surely, brick by brick, George completes his build.

“Oo.”

The colours are a little mismatched, with some of the red blending in with the green at the base, but overall, a small square house sits in the middle of the table. George admires his work, and Dream sees that a smile is on his face as a prideful glint twinkles in his eyes.

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna build one, too.”

The house is then left alone, sitting at the corner of the table as George pushes it away and helps Dream with his own project. It’s the same routine, but George is the one fishing out all the pieces now. Occasionally, he adds a flower or a tree to Dream’s build, but Dream doesn’t take them away. Soon, another house is done, this time the colours are more consistent overall.

“Mine’s nicer.”

George doesn’t say anything, instead he puts a blade of grass near Dream’s door. Claps can be heard from the front of the classroom, which causes both George and Dream to look up at Miranda.

“Playtime’s over! Put back your toys, children!” she announces, and a soft whine is heard from the corner of the classroom, a wordless protest. “Niki, c’mon, you know the rules. Pack up!”

Reluctantly, Dream tears apart his house, the pieces crumbling in his hands as he dismantles the roof. He whispers a small goodbye as the building turns into nothing but remains, some of the pieces still stuck together stubbornly, as if they’re refusing to let go of each other. A wave of sadness washes over him, yet a lingering sense of satisfaction still remains as he stares at the result of his destruction. He scoops up the Lego bricks and puts them back into the box, helping George clean up the bits and pieces as well.

With much difficulty, they manage to drag the box to the corner, George guiding Dream along the way. Returning to their seats, a little out of breath from the activity, they settle down. Miranda writes numbers on the board, and soon they’re transported into the world of Maths as they learn about addition and subtraction.

( ... ) 

“George?”

“What?”

“Are we friends?”

George fumbles with the strap of his blue backpack as they wait for their parents to pick them up. He looks up at Dream, who is staring back at him with wide eyes, and gives him a smile that makes Dream feel warm and cozy.

“Yeah.”

“Best friends?”

George shuffles closer to him, still a little timid, still a little shy. The smile is still on his lips as he whispers the words, as if it’s a secret between the both of them.

“Yeah, best friends.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dream finds George on the swings the next day before school starts, so after waving a quick goodbye to his mother, he bounds happily in George’s direction, the orange leaves brushing against his shoes, letting out a loud crunch as he steps on some of them. The wind is humming a soft tune as she caresses Dream’s cheeks, weaving her hands through George’s dark auburn hair. Some of the other kids are running around, chasing each other as they scream in delight as the teachers glance over at them nervously, a worried look on their faces.

George is swinging his legs, his hands grabbing onto the chains tightly as he watches the others play a game of catch. Dream stumbles over to him, a crooked grin on his face as soon as he sees his best friend.

“Georgie!”

George looks up at the mention of his name, and a timid smile finds a way onto his lips as he waves at Dream. Struggling a little, Dream manages to crawl onto the swing next to George’s, his feet barely grazing the ground beneath him. He kicks front and back to gain momentum, and soon he’s swinging as the breeze whizzes past him loudly.

The two sit in silence as they watch the game of tag unfold in front of them, their bags sitting at the foot of the swings. The birds help fill in their conversation as they sing their morning melodies, the morning sun shining through the gaps in between the leaves of maple trees. 

“Don’t you wanna play with them?” Dream asks, looking at George, shouting a little as the wind steals his words away, whisking them off in her soft embrace. George, thankfully, grabs at them first, because he shrugs as an answer. His swing slows down as he stops kicking, not going as high as before, so Dream follows his actions, letting his feet rest as the adrenaline slowly dies down.

“I dunno. Don’t feel like it,” George whispers as he hops off the swing. It attempts to chase him back as it oscillates forward, hoping for George’s return, but it falls back in disappointment and sadness as it sends him off, watching as Dream follows closely behind him. They grab their bags and walk back into the building, placing their shoes at a nearby shoe rack.

The empty corridor greets them warmly, encasing them in warmth and shelter from the outside world, and Dream feels so alone all of a sudden. He walks closer to George subconsciously as he starts counting the doors that they pass. George joins in the little chant, and they slow down when they reach number five.

The classroom is dark and empty as George pushes the orange door open. He tiptoes, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he reaches for the light switch, and Dream cheers as a familiar click is heard, the humming of electricity filling in the silence as the lights flicker alive. 

Dream walks towards his seat as George pulls the door shut, the fan watching in curiosity as it squeakily provides cool wind, wondering what the two boys are up to. George pulls out his notepad, and flips it open to the page he has left off yesterday. It’s half filled with random doodles, and Dream shifts closer to George as the latter pulls out a pencil and continues drawing. 

“Can I draw?”

George’s hand still for a moment, the graphite stopping in its tracks of its unfinished curve, before continuing, tracing out a circle as George nods. He pushes his notebook to Dream, standing up in the process, leaning on the table as his body inclines towards Dream. The notebook sits in between the duo as Dream digs in his pencil case in search of a pencil. He searches for a corner of the page, and starts drawing a small flower.

The only sound that fills the silence is the scratching of pencils against paper, both boys so invested in their activities that neither looked up when Miranda walked in. With a chuckle, she makes her way towards the duo, only catching their attention when they hear the clicking of her heels against the tiles.

“What are you two doing?” She asks, and with much delight, Dream moves away to showcase his proud work. 

“I drew a tree!” Dream grins, pointing at the corner where he is hunched over seconds ago. Smiling, Miranda ruffles his hair while complimenting his artwork. She attempts to move onto George’s, but the latter merely shifts to cover his unfinished drawing with his palm.

“Oh, that’s a nice flower you got there, George!”

George stares at his work, a small smile working its way onto his face. “Really?”

“Yeah! What flower is it?” 

George tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he thinks about the question, while Dream leans over and looks at George’s work. The flower sits in the middle of the page, larger than the rest of the drawings, wearing sunglasses and a smile.

“I like it too,” Dream comments, and there’s this sudden warmth that’s pooling in his heart when George hides his face to cover his grin. “It’s really pretty.”

“Thank you,” George mumbles. “It’s a sunflower.”

Dream tries to remember that George likes sunflowers and the colour blue.

“You’re really good at drawing!” Miranda says, causing George’s eyes to light up in excitement, and Dream nods eagerly. “Do you wanna be an artist in the future?”

George shakes his head at that thought, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I wanna be an astronaut!”

“Ooh, I wanna be a teacher! Like you!” Dream cuts in, earning him a laugh from Miranda. “I wanna teach people!”

“I’m sure you will one day, Dream. You’d be an excellent teacher,” she says. “And you, George, will be an excellent astronaut.”

Dream turns to George, who is jumping up and down in excitement, while Miranda returns to the front. “You hear that? I’d be an _excellent_ teacher!”

“And I’d be an _excellent_ astronaut,” George chimes in, a red blush on his cheeks from the exercise that he has done. “I wanna see the Moon!”

“Wait, but you just float around space?” Dream asks, confused.

“Yeah, but you can go to the Moon. I’ll show you.” 

George drags Dream out of the classroom, waving goodbye to Miranda in the process. His fingers are wrapped around Dream’s wrist tightly as he weaves through hallways and teachers, ending up in front of a dark green room. With slight difficulty, he opens the door and leads Dream inside, pulling him towards a specific bookshelf and ignoring the boxes of toys that are pushed to the sides.

His fingers dance on the spines of the books, letting out a satisfied hum when he finds the one that he wants. He pulls it out, and on the cover, Dream can see stars dotting the emptiness of space, as well as the fiery Sun at the corner. 

“See?” George points at Earth, and Dream’s eyes follow his finger. “That’s here. I’m gonna fly-” he moves his finger, dragging it across the cover, only stopping when it lands on a round, white sphere. “- to here!”

“How are you gonna do that?” Dream asks.

“So, I’m gonna be on a rocket-” George’s hand moves so that his palm is upright, the book long forgotten on the floor. “- and then it’s gonna go ‘three, two, one’ and woosh!” He mimics the sound, to which Dream chuckles and follows suit. 

“You’re gonna meet the aliens.”

“I can make friends with them!” 

The conversation continues as both boys talk animatedly about space and aliens, eventually stopping when Miranda ushers them back to their classrooms, where they learn more about shapes and sizes.

By the end of the lesson, George’s notebook is filled with rockets and stars.

( ... ) 

It’s Sunday.

Dream is complaining about his button-up shirt that feels uncomfortable, squirming around while his mother is trying her best to force him to stay still. There are people filing in and out of the pews, getting ready for the service that is about to start soon. Relatives greet each other with a kiss to the cheek, while children are holding onto their parents’ hands as tightly as possible. 

It’s Sunday, and every Sunday, Dream and his family will attend the church services. It’s a ritual at this point, a need, a schedule every morning that shouldn’t be missed. Dream has learnt that it is an important process, and if Dream doesn’t follow it, he will be doomed to hell. 

Dream doesn’t want to go to hell, doesn’t want to be trapped in the sea of fire that licks at his skin as he screams in agony, doesn’t want to be separated from the rest of his family. Dream doesn’t want to suffer, because fire sounds painful and he has tried to touch the flames once. 

It hurts. Dream doesn’t want that.

So when his mother hisses about being obedient, Dream obeys. 

God is listening, somewhere above. He doesn’t want to disobey God. 

He tries to shimmy in his shirt, but he tries to make it less obvious as the priest takes his place right in front of the podium. They start with a prayer, and Dream recites it almost perfectly, the words imprinted at the back of his mind. 

When the priest starts talking about God, Dream wonders if George is in church with him, if he’s sitting in one of the pews, dressed up in his Sunday’s best. He wonders if George believes in God, because Dream is certain that he is, that he does believe in God, because everyone around him believes in Him.

It’ll be a sin if he doesn’t believe in Him.

His eyes travel across the church, his fingers fumbling with each other as he tries his best to focus on the priest’s words as he searches for a familiar brown-haired boy. When Dream doesn’t spot George with his family at the front aisles, he turns around. He accidentally makes eye contact with a lady sitting behind him, and awkwardly, he turns back around and tries to read the words on his mother’s bible.

There is some sort of a strange feeling when he doesn’t see George: it’s as if he feels a little lonely. 

A hand is placed on his shoulder, and soon Dream is following his parents around, ‘peace be with you to strangers’ falling from his lips every few seconds or so. Polite smiles are exchanged while Dream tries his best not to squirm in strangers’ hugs or scowl at their hands ruffling his hair. Sulking, he runs his fingers through his fringe to tidy it. 

He watches as his parents kneel down and starts praying, so he quickly follows suit behind, settling beside his father. Closing his eyes, he interlocks fingers together and brings it near him.

 _Dear God, did you know that I made a friend this week? He’s called George, and he wants to be an astronaut. Can you make him an astronaut? I think he’d really like that. Also, I wonder how he’s doing today? Why isn’t he in church? Please, dear God, don’t send George to Hell. You probably don’t believe me, but he’s very nice._

Dream feels fingers tapping on his shoulder. 

_Please, dear God. I’m sorry on his behalf._

He opens his eyes, letting his hands untangle and fall to his side as they rest on the oak bench. His father is opening up his wallet and fishing out a two dollar note, passing it to Dream. The note is crinkled, the corners folding in, so Dream tries his best to smooth it out with his fingers, his eyes darting to and fro to the nun that’s slowly approaching him with a small, wooden box. He tries his best to fold it perfectly, side against side, and slots it into the box, a sense of happiness washing over him as the bill slides in. 

“May peace be with you,” the nun mutters with a small smile on her face, and Dream returns it as she moves on.

His father smiles and ruffles his hair, a hint of pride glimmering behind his eyes. Dream leans on his father further, a crooked grin plastered on his face, and his attention only snaps back to the priest when the songs begin.

Amidst the tunes and hymns, Dream still tries his best to spot his best friend, but is once again let down. Time blurs, and while his parents are discussing their plans for lunch, Dream tugs on his father’s shirt.

“Dad, do people go to hell if they don’t go to church?” 

His father ponders. “No, I don’t think they do.”

Dream believes it.

( ... ) 

Dream sees George on the swings again on Monday.

George seems to like that particular spot a lot, as if that spot is reserved only for him, as if when George isn’t around, the creaky, dull red swing looks wrong. It’s weird to see someone else other than George sit on it, even though George doesn’t really do anything else other than look at the swaying trees and the laughing kids in the distance.

Despite being the same age as George, Dream sometimes feels small around George. There’s some sort of aura surrounding George that causes Dream to be a little intimidated. Perhaps it’s the way George is just a wee bit taller than Dream, or the way George always has that look on his face that suggests that he knows what he’s doing. Unlike the first day of school, when Dream had found George lonely and sad, Dream now finds him a little scary.

But when George sees him and gives him a small smile, Dream doesn’t hesitate to rush over to George and settle down on the blue swing beside him, a designated seat that has long been established as soon as the both of them became friends.

“You don’t go to the church.” The statement comes out of Dream’s mouth before he realises it, finally free of its captive in his mind. “Why? Does your parents not like God or something?”

At the corner of his eyes, he sees George shrugging, the latter’s bottom lip sticking out and almost resembling a pout. “I don’t know.”

“Will you go to hell?”

George winces. His grip on the metal chains seems to tighten, and his legs don't kick as high anymore as he whispers his answer. “I don’t know.”

“Well, my dad says that you won’t go to hell,” Dream states confidently, which earns a small huff of laughter from George. “It’s true! Why are you laughing at me?”

George shakes his head. “I’m not laughing at you!”

“You are!” Dream pokes at George’s cheek. “Look, you’re all red!”

“Am not!” George protests, whacking Dream’s finger away. “You started it!”

Dream hops off the swing, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Fine, I won’t be your friend anymore.”

At that threat, George’s eyes widened. As Dream starts to walk away slowly, he hears a loud ‘wait!’ from George, the crunching of leaves underneath the other’s shoes getting louder as George catches up to Dream. Fingers wrap around Dream’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Please don’t leave me,” George mumbles. “You’re my best friend.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Dream grins, slipping his hand into George’s. “We’re best buddies!”

“Best buddies!” George chirps, raising their interlocked hands in happiness, laughter filling in the air around them. “We'll be best friends forever, won’t we?”

“We will.”

George doesn’t seem to be content with the answer, because soon after he sticks out his other hand and holds it out in front of Dream. “Pinky promise?”

The trees seem to watch in silence as Dream hooks his pinkie around George’s, tapping their thumbs together.

“Promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a Tuesday when Dream finds out that George is colourblind.

It’s unintentional: they were in the middle of class, a pack of colour pencils in between the two of them as they drew what their families look like. A small house is situated in the middle of Dream’s paper, three people standing with smiley faces outside in the field. There’s a small flower beside his mother, and at the left corner of the paper is an obnoxious bright orange sun with glasses on.

When he looks over George’s arm to see what he has drawn, he pokes the other.

“Why’s your grass yellow?”

It’s unintentional, yet George still freezes over the mistake that Dream has pointed out. He stares at the yellow colour pencil that has stopped in its tracks, as if it took part in the betrayal. “This isn’t green?”

“No,” Dream scoffs, pulling out the actual green that’s still in the box. “This is green. You’re holding yellow.”

George’s face is red as he takes the green colour pencil in silence, a quiet ‘thank you’ slipping past his lips as he returns shading. He tries to colour over the yellow that has stained the paper, pressing green furiously against the patch of grass to mend his wrongdoings. 

“Are you crying?”

A small sniffle answers Dream’s question, causing Dream to freeze. He looks over at George, who’s looking defeatedly at his artwork as tears flow down his face. George doesn’t meet his gaze, instead choosing to pick out red from the bunch of colours.

“I’m not,” George mumbles, rubbing at his eyes as more tears fall. His hands are shaking as he colours the roof of his house. “Don’t look at me.”

“George?” Miranda asks, and Dream looks up at her. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

“Nothing,” George whimpers. Dream watches as he fiddles with his fingers, unsure of what to do. “I just- I took yellow instead of green, so my drawing’s all ruined.”

“I think it’s still pretty!” Dream blurts out, but George only toys with the corner of his paper, where the yellow and green grass remains. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I look at it, George?” Miranda asks, her tone soft, and George nods as he hands her the paper. She examines it for a little while, George’s nervous eyes flickering between the table and the paper, rubbing at his eyes. “I think it looks okay!”

“Really?”

“I told you!” Dream says loudly. “Your drawings are pretty!”

George sniffs again, but there’s a small smile on his face. “They are?”

“They are, George,” Miranda reassures George once again. Holding out her hand, she nods at George. “We’ll get you all cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay,” is all George says as he holds her hand and lets her take the lead. The other classmates are staring at him, some with mild concern while the others in curiosity, but they all return to their mini projects as Miranda coaxes them.

“Is George okay?”

“Yes, Minx,” Miranda pats her head, and she pouts and moves away from the former’s hand. “Don’t worry about him. You’re alright, aren’t you, George?”

“I am,” George mumbles. Minx nods as she turns back to her drawing. 

There’s a small tug on George’s hand, and when he turns back, he notices Dream behind him. 

“Dream?”

“I wanna go with you,” Dream says, holding onto George’s hand tighter. Miranda looks down at the duo, some sort of warmth spreading in her heart at their interactions, but she clears her throat and bends down to face Dream.

“Dream, I know you’re worried about your best friend-” She glances at George, who only tightens his hold on Dream’s hand. “-but it’s only going to take a while, okay? He’ll return to class soon.”

“But I don’t want him to go,” Dream whines, though George is giggling and pushing Dream’s hand away. Miranda laughs a little. 

“I promise he’ll come back as quick as he can, alright?”

Dream reluctantly lets go of George, his eyes still lingering on the boy as a slight pout rests on his lips. “Fine.”

“I’ll be back, Dreamie,” George says through his small smile, patting Dream’s head with sympathy. Dream pouts further, though he’s slowly dragging his feet back to his seat. George takes Miranda’s hand once again as they leave the class, Dream watching the both of them disappear out of the door.

“You’re friends with George?” A boy pipes up, and Dream looks at him. Sitting in front of him is a boy with light brown hair, a plastic crown resting on top of his head that’s curiously turned around to face Dream, his brown eyes staring at Dream in anticipation.

“Yeah.” Dream looks down and continues colouring, shifting in his seat once in a while as yellow slowly fills in the walls of his house. “Best friends.”

Wilbur stares at his drawing, the oversized beanie partially covering his eyes before he pushes it up. Huffing a little, he drags his chair back so that he can lean over further. The other boy beside him is too engrossed in his drawing to pay attention to the conversation. 

“I talked to George but he ignored me.” Wilbur plays with the corner of the paper, folding it carefully and slowly crumpling it. “He doesn’t talk to people. Like, he has no friends. You’re his first friend.”

“Are you from where George is?” 

“Yeah!” Wilbur smiles, and he grabs his paper to place it on Dream’s table, pointing to the house. “See, this is my mum-” he points to a stick figure with a brown ponytail- “-my dad-” -to another stick figure with a mustache- “and me and my sister!” -then to a small boy and girl in the middle.

“You have a sister?” Dream tilts his head in curiosity, and Wilbur nods his head so quickly that his beanie is flung onto the floor. Niki picks it up for him, the latter giving her a shy smile and ‘thank you’ before readjusting it back on his fluffed-up hair. 

“Yeah, I don’t like her,” Wilbur grumbles, “but I suppose she’s alright.”

Dream fiddles with the colour pencil. “Why?”

“She, like, she takes my stuff, and she keeps following me.” Wilbur puts his head on the back of the chair, watching Dream’s fingers with slight interest. “She keeps copying me. I don’t like it.”

“Oh,” is all Dream can muster before the door swings open. George reappears and runs back to his seat, his fringe slightly wet. He plops down beside Dream, and although the rim of his eyes are still a little red from the crying, his nose dusted pink, he looks alright.

“Georgie! You’re back!”

“I’m back!” George giggles, hiding his grin behind his hand. Dream nudges the drawing closer to George, the latter finally noticing Wilbur. “Hey, Wilbur.”

“Hi.” Wilbur gives George a small wave, leaning forward to glance at George’s drawing only for the other to cover it up. Wilbur pouts. “Why don’t you want others to see you draw?”

“I’m not done with it,” George mumbles, shielding his work from Wilbur with his arm. 

“But you show it to me!”

George rolls his eyes at Dream’s response. “You’re my best friend, of course I’ll show it to you.”

“Why can’t I be your best friend?” Wilbur whines, though George huffs quietly.

“‘Cause you have Niki and Techno as your best friends already! You can’t have two best friends!” 

Pouting, Wilbur turns back around to his original seat, snatching his drawing from Dream’s table. “Fine! I won’t be your best friend then!”

George merely blows a raspberry in his direction, which earns him a glare as well as a warning from Miranda. A half-hearted apology falls from George’s lips before he turns back to his drawing, picking out a blue colour pencil.

“That’s blue,” Dream offers to help, but George nods as he colours his walls. “George?”

“I know,” he mumbles, the grip on his pencil tightening as he presses it down with firmness. “I can still see colours.”

Dream looks at him, confusion bubbling at the back of his mind. “Huh?”

“Test me.” is all George says before looking at Dream with a grin on his face. 

Dream frowns, his eyes scanning the pack of colour pencils before pulling out a brown colour pencil. “What’s this?”

“Brown.”

“This?”

“Dark blue?”

“It’s purple,” Dream says, and points to the colour pencil that George is holding. “That’s blue.”

“Oh.” George looks down, biting on his lip. “Oh.”

“Wait, what about this?” Dream holds up an orange pencil, putting it in front of George. 

Squinting, George takes the pencil from Dream, colouring it onto the corner of his paper. Dream snatches it away from him. “Hey! That’s cheating!”

“I see it better on paper,” George says, though he’s still squinting as he leans in closer to inspect the scribble. “Red? Or orange…”

“It’s orange!” Dream exclaims loudly, and George’s smile grows wider. 

“Yay!”

“So you can see colours?”

“I can’t.”

Dream blinks. George sighs, picking a few colour pencils from the bunch.

“These-” he holds out the purple colour pencil, then proceeds to put it beside the dark blue one. “-look the same. And this-” he pulls out a green and yellow colour pencil. “-look the same.”

“But they’re different?” Dream tilts his head, staring at the colours. “This is purple, and dark blue. That’s green and yellow.”

“I can’t see them.” George shrugs, pouting as he goes back his drawing, picking out a light blue (after confirmation from Dream) colour pencil. 

“You’re weird, but in a good way. Special.” Dream says.

George stops colouring. “You think so?”

“Yeah!” Dream grins. “You can’t see colours, though. It’s kinda sad.”

George merely smiles as he pokes Dream in the arm. “Well, I’m used to it.”

“I’m gonna let you see colours one day!” Dream declares, and George can’t help the small giggle that bursts from his mouth. “What? I’m gonna make sure you can see colours one day! I promise! Then you won’t be sad anymore.”

“I dunno.”

“I promise,” Dream says, though with more determination. “You’re gonna see colours.”

George’s grin grows wider. “Okay.”

( ... ) 

When play time rolls around, instead of their usual spot beside the bookshelves (where George would show Dream some of his favourite books to read, while the other does the same. They’d end up getting too absorbed in their own world of fiction until Miranda has to coax them out.), George had convinced Dream to follow him.

“Where are we going?” Dream asks, but George only answers him with nothing but giggles. As Dream whines again, George only tugs on Dream’s wrist. 

“It’s a secret.” There’s a slight twinkle in George’s brown eyes, mischief dancing at its irises as he bites on his lip. It’s making Dream jumpy that George doesn’t want to reveal it, but he feels giddy as well, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he lets George drag him through the playground, passing the swings that they’d usually occupy. 

Dream supposes that it’s a special place for George. Even Miranda, when asking them where they’re going, is denied an answer as George points to the door and tells her that they’d be at the toilet. Nodding, Miranda tells them to be back in five minutes, and just like that they had slipped past Esther’s office by tiptoeing and past the front door. 

They pass some of the older kids who are playing outside, ignoring them when one has stopped to ask where they are going. Dream opens his mouth to answer, but is immediately stopped by George. 

“Don’t. It’s a secret, remember?”

Dream nods. Not satisfied, George puts his pinky out. 

“Swear that you’ll never tell.”

Dream grins and wraps his pinky around George’s. “I promise. I’m your best friend. I’ll never break it.”

“Good.” George grins, before his fingers are wrapped around Dream’s wrists once again. He leads them past the small bushes that barricades the playground, and for the first time, Dream feels nervousness pooling at the bottom of his stomach. 

“George? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.” is all George replies before pulling Dream further into the canopy of trees. Dream almost trips on a stray root that pokes out of the floor as he tries to catch up with George. Whimpering a little, he tries to stick closer to George, feeling his fear slightly dissipate at his best friend’s presence.

“We’re here!” George stops suddenly, causing Dream to bump into him. “Look!”

Dream lets his eyes follow George’s fingers, trying to see what he’s pointing at. Putting his hand up to shield himself from the rays of sunlight that has managed to trickle through the gaps between leaves, he takes a few moments to register the sight that he is seeing.

On top of a tree, between two sturdy branches that have split to form a Y, a treehouse sits in the middle. A rope ladder hangs from the entrance, resting against the trunk as it prompts the two boys to climb it. 

It looks ancient, and Dream wonders if there’s going to be a secret room hidden in it. Maybe they could find a book that reveals all of the kindergarten’s secrets, or a diary written by a man that has left for an adventure. Maybe they might find a trapdoor that leads to a hidden compartment, filled with gold and riches, away from strangers and the forbidden eyes.

Dream shivers. Somehow, in between seconds when his imagination had run wild, George has made his way across the ground and is standing at the base of the tree, his hands on the ladder. He’s looking expectedly at Dream, and when the other did not respond, moves to grab his wrist again.

Dream snaps out of his daze.

“C’mon, follow me,” George mumbles, releasing Dream’s hand to replace it with the nylon ropes, hauling himself up. The ladder swings a little, and for a moment, Dream is worried that George will accidentally fall, but then George looks down and he realises he should start climbing.

And so he does. One of his hands rests on the rough surface of the rope, while the other is on the smooth, wooden rung of the ladder. Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself up, squealing a little when the ladder swings. 

“Climb!” George urges, though Dream is too focused on his steps to reply to the boy. Slowly but surely, he makes his way up to the house, his heart racing with every step further away from ground. When his hand manages to graze the rough surface of the wooden floors, George is whooping and helping the other. Holding onto George’s hand tightly, he scrambles for the sturdy wood floor, resting on his stomach so that he can crawl into the house.

The floor creaks underneath his weight, causing him to jump in surprise. George, however, doesn’t seem fazed by it, instead walking further into the house. 

“Ta-da!” George opens his arms wide, turning back to face Dream. “It’s my hidey place! Do you like it?”

Dream glances around, the fantasies in his head turning into dusts as he takes in the plain sight of the treehouse. There’s nothing except for a few wilted flowers that are seated atop of a ragged cloth, and a few books scattered across the floor. A pillow is flung carelessly to the corner of the house.

It’s minimalistic, to say the least.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” Dream says, trying to hide his disappointment. Where’s the part where George announces that they will be going on an adventure with his pet squirrel, or the part where they have to run away from zombies, and the only available shelter they have is here? 

Dream bites on his lip as he looks out of the window.

“Yeah, I come here when the other kids are being mean.” George whispers, looking down at his feet and fumbling with his fingers. “I dunno, I just come here when I feel a little sad.”

“It’s okay, Georgie.” Dream walks over and pats his head, tiptoeing a little. “I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

George smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” Dream huffs, attempting to stand a little taller. “I’m your best friend. I’ll protect you.”

“You won’t let anyone hurt me?” There’s a hint of hope in George’s eyes, something akin to a spark as he looks at Dream. 

“Of course I won’t. I’m your best friend, remember?” Dream grins. George hides a small smile that’s creeping up his face. Dream laughs. 

Somehow, despite the near empty treehouse that they’re in, the air feels warm and alive, buzzing with something that the two boys have brought. Perhaps it’s their laughter that has filled the air, or maybe it’s something more, something new that has grown between the two boys. An unbreakable bond that’s similar to a sprout, slowly getting stronger with each interaction and trust that they have exchanged.

“Let’s go back,” George says, walking towards the entrance. “We can come here anytime. I trust you.”

“Okay,” Dream whispers, and George is slowly disappearing as he descends to the ground. Dream looks down, his legs slightly shaking from the height as he tries to steady himself. George is standing at the bottom, looking up at him and cheering him on, while songbirds chirp an unknown tune in the background. 

As soon as Dream’s feet hit the ground, George is sprinting towards the kindergarten, throwing a playful ‘catch me while you can!’ to Dream. Dream gasps, competitiveness stirring at the bottom of his stomach as he pushes himself to catch up to George, leaping over exposed roots that try to catch his feet and dangling branches that threaten to slow him down.

Laughter rings through the forest as two boys try to outsprint each other, sunlight seeping through the leaves to graze their hair as the wind plays with the hem of their shirts. Their footsteps echo through the forest, and there’s a loud cheer from George when he manages to emerge from the forest first, Dream following closely behind. 

“That’s unfair!” Dream whines, stomping his feet on the ground as he pants. George laughs, chanting ‘Dream is slow’ in a singsong voice until Dream pushes him, causing him to stumble.

“Hey!” George yells, but Dream is red-faced as he stomps past George, his cheeks puffed up in anger. The two boys make their way back into the kindergarten, sneaking past Esther’s office as usual and stumbling into their classroom. 

“Dream! George!” The two boys look up. “Gosh, where did you two go? I allowed you to go to the toilet, and you come back with leaves on your clothes and branches in your hair!” 

George pats his head immediately, trying to find for any stray branches like Miranda had mentioned. Dream shakes his head furiously, causing a few leaves to fall from his hair. Shaking her head in disappointment, she walks over to the two filthy boys. 

“C’mon. Follow me.” Miranda holds out her hand, letting the two boys stand on either side of her as she leads them to the bathroom, trusting the others to stay in the playroom and not leave anywhere. Mumbling a little, she uses a clean handkerchief to rub at George’s face, then Dream’s.

“Where have you two been? Getting all dirty like that,” Miranda asks, running the cloth underneath the tap, hanging it on a nearby clothesline after she’s done. When she receives no response from either boys, she dries her hands and puts them on her hips. “Okay, Dream. Where did George bring you to?”

Dream remains silent as he stares at the floor, his eyes tracing the gaps in between tiles. Miranda sighs, and turns to George. “Where did you bring Dream to, George?”

“It’s a secret. I can’t tell you,” George mumbles, also averting his gaze away from Miranda’s. Guilt is pulling at George’s heart, and his eyes burn as tears threaten to fall. There’s a moment of silence before Miranda speaks up again. 

“Look, boys. I can’t have you run around everywhere, okay? I trusted you that you’d be going to the toilet, but instead you lied to me,” Miranda chides, and George starts crying. Dream merely bites on his lip as his fingers play with the hem of his shirt. 

Turning to George, Miranda bends down so that she’s eye level with the boy, and with a softer tone, coaxes George to look at her. He obeys, trying to wipe his tears away with his sleeves. “George, why did you lie to me?”

“I- I wanted to give Dr-Dream a surprise,” George says weakly, hiccuping in between words as he tries to breathe. “I’m- I’m sorry, I won’t do it- do it again.”

“Apology accepted.” Miranda smiles a little as George looks away, turning to Dream. “Dream, why didn’t you stop George when he lied?”

Dream doesn’t answer. Miranda sighs. “Dream, answer me.” 

“He said it was a surprise, and I promised him.”

“Thank you, Dream,” Miranda says, standing up. “You two are grounded from playing outside for one week for lying. Do you hear me, boys?” 

“But-” Dream tries to protest, but immediately quietens down when George nods silently. 

“Esther would’ve given you a worse punishment. I’m letting you off easy, Dream. Do not lie to me again, okay?” Miranda says sternly, earning meek nods from both boys. “Good. Go join your friends now.”

The two of them immediately exit the bathroom, shame looming like a dark cloud over them as they push open the doors to the playroom. Dream bolts to a corner of the room as soon as he enters the room, George following behind him quietly. 

Taking out a colouring book, George fetches a box of colour pencils and settles down, flipping to a fresh page. Dream has decided to fumble with a few pieces of Lego blocks, trying to build a bird when he glances at George’s page.

Without a word, he picks out a green colour pencil and replaces the yellow colour pencil in George’s hand. 

“Leaves are green.”

George whispers a ‘thank you’, and continues his colouring.

The atmosphere seems to lighten up a little.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :]
> 
> sorry for the late update fjdhflkdj i didn't have any motivation to write this... but im back now!
> 
> idk how often updates will be, but look forward to it. i have lots of plan and hope for this, and i hope you can stick along with the ride too
> 
> BEFORE YALL YELL AT ME i apologise for the bad writing

“I’m sorry,” George blurts out later, when they are both waiting for their parents to pick them up. The rain splatters against the cement floor, threatening to splash onto both of their shoes, so Dream shifts away a little to avoid it.

“Why?”

“You can’t play outside now, and it’s all my fault,” George sulks. 

Dream shrugs, his fingers toying with a blade of grass that he has plucked. “It’s raining. We can’t play outside anyway.”

George looks like he’s about to say something, when a familiar white Toyota pulls up at the entrance of the kindergarten. With an excited smile, Dream watches his mother walk down the pavement hurriedly, a black umbrella shielding her while Dream stands up.

“Mummy!” He squeals, rushing forward to hug his mother, the latter returning it with a smile just as bright as Dream’s. When they pull apart, Miranda greets her and ruffles Dream’s hair, offering a plastic bag to Dream’s mother. 

While the two grown-ups talk, Dream zones out of the conversation. Fiddling with his fingers, he proceeds to sit beside George again, pulling his knees closer to his chest as he shifts closer to the other boy. 

“Is that your mum?” George stares, tilting his head in curiosity. Dream nods, biting on his fingernails. Putting the other hand under the edge of the roof, he lets the raindrop trickle through his fingers before splashing it in George’s face. 

Squealing, George whines as he tries to dry his face with his shirt. He copies Dream’s actions, though both his hands are cupped with water as he throws it onto Dream’s face, causing Dream to giggle and repeat the action. Soon, Miranda is looming over them with arms crossed.

“Dream and George, care to explain?” Miranda raises her eyebrow, catching the two boys’ attention. Soaking wet, they glance at each other. George shakes his head to get rid of the water droplets, earning a glare from Miranda once again. “George?”

“Fun,” George mumbles, shifting on his feet. “Sorry. We won’t do it again.”

Miranda sighs, and somehow that causes Dream’s heart to drop a little at the disappointment. Apology accepted, George. Dream?”

Dream grumbles out an apology, his uniform clinging to his skin in discomfort. He glances up past Miranda and at his mother, a mix of amusement and displease sparkling in her green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda chuckles, turning back to Dream’s mother. “They’re just boys.”

“Oh no.” Dream’s mother shakes her head, pulling Dream to her side. “I’m sorry that Dream’s causing so much trouble in school. If he-” she looks at Dream, which causes him to squirm. “-gets into trouble again, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Miranda smiles, though it looks more tense. “I will. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dream.”

“Say goodbye to your teacher and your friend.”

“Bye, Miranda.” Dream waves, tugging on the red straps of his bag as he turns to George, hair dripping wet. “Bye, George.”

His mother marches him out of the kindergarten before he can see George wave back.

( . . . )

“You need to stop this, Dream,” are the first words his mother says to him as soon as they’re in the car. Dream sits at the back seat, quiet and hesitant, fumbling with the straps of his backpack as his mother continues reprimanding him. “You don’t want to let us down, do you?”

Dream mumbles out a small ‘no’.

“Don’t mumble.” His mother warns. “You know I hate mumbling. Speak with confidence.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s more like it.”

Dream turns to stare at the window and watches raindrops race each other. 

( . . . )

“So, who’s this new friend your mother keeps talking about?” Dream’s father asks him over dinner, after they’ve held hands and said a prayer. Dream is shovelling potatoes into his mouth, earning a small glare from his mother. He slows down.

“Who?”

“The one you apparently played in the rain with.” His father places another piece of chicken on Dream’s plate.

“Oh, George.”

His father nods, as if deep in thought, as he scoops up a spoonful of rice. “How’s George like?”

“My best friend,” Dream stares at the vegetables, mesmerised by the greens that branches out. “He’s fun. Keeps messing up his purples with blues and greens and yellows. He’s from this other country.”

“He’s colourblind?” His mother asks, seemingly shocked at the discovery.

“No, he’s not.” Dream jumps to George’s defense. “He can see colours. I can ask him to do it. He just messes up sometimes.”

“That’s colourblind, honey,” his father says, and when Dream looks up, slightly confused, he gives him a warm smile. “He can’t see certain colours because he has something lacking in his eyes, which allows most of us to see greens and yellows.”

Dream frowns. “Did God take away his colour?”

“Maybe.” The clinking of spoons against glass echoes in Dream’s ears as he tries to pay attention. “But God has plans for everyone. Just because he can’t see colours doesn’t mean he’s doomed.”

“But he’s special, right?” Dream plays with the rice in his plate, stopping only when his mother hits his hand. “He’s special.”

“Yeah.” His father shoots a glance towards his wife. “Special.”

( . . . )

Dream squirms in his chair uncomfortably. Despite attending church everyday, he’s still not used to the tight button-ups he has to wear. They always choke him, in one way or another.

He spaces out slightly, when the priest starts preaching about humanity and God, and how everyone should believe in those with power. He tries to pay attention, but the splinter in his fingers are really annoying him. He can’t help but try to pry them out.

A hissed warning comes from his mother. He stops fumbling with his fingers and instead chooses to stare at the tinted glass windows, watches how sunlight seems to paint itself in blues and yellows as they land on the church floor.

It’s pretty. Dream wonders if he can touch it.

He doesn’t even realise that everyone’s praying until his father’s hand lands on his shoulder, causing him to snap out of his daze. Quickly, he closes his eyes and bends his head down.

_ Dear God, do you still remember my best friend, George? Apparently he’s colourblind because you took away his colours. Why did you do that? _

He frowns, shifting to find a more comfortable position and prays once again.

_ Why did you take away his colours? Will he still be able to see? Did he do anything wrong? Please return his colours. He’s my best friend, and you’re my friend too, aren’t you? Please, dear God, return him his colours. I want him to see purple and green. _

He stands up when he’s done, whispering another small prayer as a final goodbye before his attention is caught by the pretty sunlight once again.

( . . . )

They spend more time in the treehouse now.

Usually, it’s George who initiates the visit, but occasionally Dream begs to go there. It’s their secret hideaway, a place where they don’t have interruptions from other kids, a place where the both of them can goof off as much as they want. 

It’s their place now, and Dream feels happy that he gets to be here with George.

“Did you build this by yourself?” Dream asks, letting his fingers run along the rough surface of the walls. George merely shrugs, squishing a pillow in between his arms as he stares at Dream.

“My dad did,” George says. “I had one back in England.”

“Lucky.”

“You never had one?” George tilts his head, a little surprised when Dream shakes his head. “Oh.”

Dream decides to pick up a book that’s left stranded in the middle of the rug.  _ Winnie the Pooh _ , it reads, and he hears George shuffle closer to him as he flips open the cover. The only sound that fills the treehouse is the rustle of leaves outside while both boys read the book quietly. 

“I like Eeyore,” George says. “He’s nice.”

“Really?” Dream tilts his head, staring at the characters. “I think I like Tigger.”

“Why?”

“He’s always moving.” Dream shrugs. “And he’s cool. A tiger.”

“I think lions are cooler though,” George mumbles. The wind ruffles both their hair.

“Everyone says that.”

“Lions are cool,” George rambles on, a small smile on his face. “They’re the King of the Jungle, and ‘roar!’” He tries to imitate it’s roar, though it comes out with less power. “Like, they’re just so cool.”

“Huh.” Dream’s fingers move so that he’s tracing the outline of Tigger, down its back where the stripes are, towards the tip of the tail. “I like cats. Like-” He then curls his fingers and places his hand near his cheeks, resembling some sort of a paw. “Meow.”

George giggles, mimicking Dream, and soon they’re both meowing at each other. The birds still sing outside, symphonies somehow finding their way into the treehouse and interlacing with the constant ‘meow’s. Sunlight darts in from the opening, highlighting Dream’s hair just a little.

“Whoa! Your hair’s so pretty!” George darts forward, staring at Dream’s golden locks, brown eyes mesmerised at how they seem to glow under the sun. “It’s really pretty.”

Dream tries to look up, but George hushes at him, tells him to stop. He can feel George’s fingers run through his hair, as if he’s examining the finest art piece delicately.

“So, so pretty…”

“It is?” 

“Yeah!” George sits back, letting Dream shift around as the latter combs through his hair, shaking his head so that his curls fall naturally again. “I wish I had pretty hair like yours.”

“I think your hair’s alright.”

“You think so?”

Dream gives him a smile. “Yeah.”

George grins, and for a moment, in their little treehouse, everything’s alright. “I wanna hug Eeyore.”

Dream looks down to the storybook, still sitting in his lap, and he flips to the part where their beloved blue donkey appears. “Why?”

“I dunno.” George shrugs, leaning closer to Dream so that he can get a glimpse of Eeyore. “He’s just… sad. And hugs make everything better.”

“Yeah,” Dream says, tilting his head. “I like the ribbon on his tail.”

“If you’re sad, can I give you a hug?” 

Dream looks at George. “Yeah. Can I?”

“Yeah.”

( . . . )

“Daddy!” As soon as he sees his father park his car outside, Dream wastes no time in rushing out to greet him. He’s soon engulfed in a bear hug and lifted off his feet, squealing as his father laughs out loud. “Daddy! I had fun with George today!”

“Oh, did you?” Dream’s father lets him down and watches as his boy runs up and down and bounces around like a little bunny. “What did you guys do?”

“We- we went to this-” Then Dream clamps his hands against his mouth, eyes widening. “I can’t tell you though, it’s a secret.”

His father smiles. “It’s alright, I’m good at keeping secrets.” 

Dream debates if he should expose his and George’s secret, his eyes darting back and forth, before leaning into his father’s ears and whispering as softly as possible. “We went to his treehouse.”

“A treehouse?” His father whispers, equally as quiet, and Dream nods with this serious look, as if it’s top secret that he’d protect with his entire life.

“You have to promise me not to tell anyone!” Holding out his pinky, he huffs at his father. “Promise me! Not even Mummy!”

His father wraps his pinky around Dream’s, slowly beckoning the smaller boy back into the house. “Promise. So, what did you guys do?”

“We- we read Winnie the Pooh!” Dream exclaims excitedly, his green eyes glimmering with happiness as he recounts the day. “He likes Eeyore. Like, the blue donkey that always looks sad. And like- he told me my hair is pretty!”

“Your hair is pretty,” Dream’s father grins proudly. “You got it from me.”

Dream merely giggles as he flaps his arms around. “Like, he wants to hug Eeyore because he’s sad, and he says that hugs always makes people feel better.” Turning to his father, Dream watches as he locks the door. “Is it true? Hugs make people feel better?”

“Yeah, they do.” They move to the living room, where Dream’s father finally sets aside his bag and settles down on the couch. “Hugs are magical.”

“Then why do you not hug Mummy when you fight?”

His father freezes, the hand that’s loosening his tie stopping in its tracks. “Dream, I think I’m a little tired now.” He then lets out a chuckle, one that’s devoid of any humour. “Why don’t you leave Daddy to rest for a while, okay? It’s been a long day at work.”

Seemingly disappointed, Dream doesn’t budge. “But-”

“Dream.”

It’s a warning, one that Dream clearly receives. With slumped shoulders, Dream mumbles an ‘okay’ before darting back up to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

Dream thinks that naptime is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

He doesn’t know who invented it, or why napping is even important, because he’s doing alright without napping. He thinks it’s a waste of time, and that it’d be better off if he spent the two hours napping on something more fun, like playing in the playground or building houses out of Lego.

Dream really, really hates napping, and he really, really hates how insistent Miranda seems to be when he protests about it. Even George, who’s always mild and never speaks up against Miranda, lets out a soft whine when Miranda ushers the children into a room. 

“I don’t wanna sleep!” Dream pouts, looking back up at Miranda. “Can I not sleep, please? Pretty please?”

“I’m sorry, Dream, but no.” 

“Why?” Dream slouches, walking into the dreaded room as he clings onto his last hope, turning around to face Miranda and putting his hands together in a praying motion. “Pretty please, Miranda? I swear I won’t tell.”

Miranda smiles, and he thinks he’s got it, thinks that he’s able to escape the doom of sleeping. “No.”

And he’s lost. Pouting, he walks past his classmates, some of whom have brought their soft toys with them. In Niki’s hands lay a white bunny, fluffy and soft. When Minx tries to grab it, Niki merely pulls away with a protest. Wilbur has his little shark, and he’s using it to chase the others as he roars (roars?).

Even George has his toy cat, a tabby that has grey fur and green eyes, tucked lovingly into his embrace. As Miranda tries to calm everyone down, Dream plops down opposite of George, curling up on himself.

“I don’t like nap times.”

“Me too,” George mumbles, playing with the front paws of his cat. Dream reaches over and gives it a pat. 

“What’s its name?”

“Cat.”

“Cat?” Dream laughs a little. “You named a cat ‘Cat’?”

George’s face is bright red as he holds Cat closer to himself. “Shut up.”

“He’s cute.” Dream leans in and stares at it’s green eyes. “Cute.”

Miranda’s clap disrupts their conversation, and as she looks around, Dream huddles closer to George and his cat. As she drones on about naps, Dream fumbles with the cat’s tail, letting it swish across the back of his hand. 

Only when the door shuts with a small ‘click’ and the room falls into partial darkness (thanks to that one window that looks almost suspiciously like a door) that Dream realises Miranda has left them to sleep.

It’s silent for a moment, and in the corner of the eye, he can see Techno shifting into a more comfortable position by the wall, a small, pink pig squashed in his hands. Niki and Minx are at the other end of the room, quiet whispers coming from the girls. Wilbur’s fumbling with his shark, his beanie lopsided, while Sylvee is already fast asleep.

Dream looks over at George. “Are you going to sleep?”

“I dunno.” George shrugs, his fingers running along the cat’s back. “I don’t wanna.”

“Me too,” Dream confesses, as if it’s a sin, and turns to George, flopping onto his belly. “You wanna do something else, then?”

“Yeah,” George turns so that he’s in the same position as Dream, and looks at him. His cat is squashed underneath him by accident. George desperately pulls it out and apologises to it in a hushed tone.

“We can build a house,” Dream whispers, staring at the wooden floor beneath him. “We’ll build a house, and we can bring Cat and our parents. It’ll have so many rooms that it can fit.”

George’s eyes seem to light up as he shuffles closer to Dream, ears trying to pick up on every word the latter says. “Ooh, we can have a swimming pool!”

“Yeah! Like, swimming pool, and we can have this  _ huge _ kitchen we wouldn’t need to cook for ourselves, and all that we have to do is to say what we want and it’ll come out!” 

“We can have pizza all day!” George cheers, just a little too loudly, because Wilbur is shushing him from the other side of the room. The girls’ whispers seem to die down. “Oops.”

“Pizza, and ice cream. And I wanna have a ball pool.”

“Ball pool?”

Dream stares at George as if the other had grown a second head. “You don’t know what a ball pool is?”

George hums, and he shifts slightly just so that he’s comfortable, his head resting in his palms. “Is it a pool filled with balls?”

“Yeah!” Dream beams. “And like, we can just dive into it.”

“I want to have  _ all _ the animals,” George says, a small smile on his lips. “Like, I want to have an elephant and a lion and a giraffe and-”

“They’ll be at the top floor!” Dream pauses, seemingly deep in thought. “How many floors will we have?”

“As many as we want.”

They keep talking, keep adding on to their fantasies that won’t come true, even if Wilbur kept shushing them from the other side of the room when they get a little too loud. They keep talking, keep painting a picture with words that only creativity can limit, keep talking about their future houses without a care. They keep talking, having escaped into their own world, until all that’s left is just Dream and George and George and Dream and nothing will ever stop them from being together.

Suddenly, George’s eyes widen as he hushes Dream. “Sleep.”

The two of them fall to the floor and close their eyes, as if they haven’t been talking for the past hour. At that moment, the door creaks open, footsteps ringing through Dream’s ears as he tries to hold his breath.

“Esther, I promise they’re all asleep.” Miranda’s voice is a low whisper, something akin to a breeze in late June. “It’s probably some other kids that you’ve heard.”

George’s breath hitches, barely noticeable, but when the other boy is just right across from him Dream can hear everything. His heart pounds a little quicker as he shuts his eyes a little tighter, and he prays to God that Esther doesn’t notice that they’re both awake.

“You’re disturbing them. Besides, you have other work to do, yes?” 

Dream hears the door creak as both Miranda’s and Esther’s voice fade away. Cautiously, he pries open his eyes and scans the room. 

It’s dark. The both of them are gone. 

George shifts, and Dream moves slightly closer to him. “We could’ve gotten caught!”

Dream nods, eyes wide. “Yeah. That was scary.”

“Do you need a hug?”

Dream nods. And soon a pair of arms wrap around his small frame, George closing the distance between them. Dream replicates the hug by wrapping his arms around George’s waist, and even though it’s awkward with Dream’s knee in between them and George’s hair tickling his neck, it is much needed.

“Thank you.”

George gives him a toothy grin, and Dream thinks that maybe nap times aren’t all that bad.

* * *

The both of them get into trouble with Esther.

It’s no big deal, really, if Wilbur would just  _ shut his mouth _ and  _ not tell Esther about it. _ They wouldn’t have gotten into trouble, would’ve gotten away with their sneaky past times and dreams.

But  _ no _ . Wilbur had the audacity to smirk at them, and with his little shark plushie in his hand, hop off happily to Esther. “Madam Esther, Dream and George have not been sleeping during naptime today!”

Dream freezes, the building block in his hand, while George winces a little, as if Wilbur’s words have personally hurt him. Wilbur continues tattling as Esther leans down and listens. “They were talking a lot, and it’s annoying me. I couldn’t sleep either.” He adds a small pout.

“Thank you Wilbur,” she says, her beady eyes trained on Dream and George as if she was an eagle hunting for a meal. “You can go now.”

“It’s not true! Wilbur’s lying!” Dream yells, standing up in the process of doing so. George shrinks slightly, his hands in his lap, the colour pencil forgotten and his artwork sitting on the desk as he fumbles with his fingers. 

“You do NOT get to talk back!” Esther barks, marching towards Dream such that she towered over him. Slightly afraid, he backs away, arms squeezed tight against his side. On the other hand, George watches with fear in his eyes. “You have been VERY disrespectful.”

“But Wilbur’s-”

Pointing a ruler in Dream’s face, Esther sneers. “You dare lie to me?”

Dream remains silent, his heart pounding as he watches the edge of the ruler that is too close to his face for comfort. Shaking his head, he tries to step back again, only for his back to hit the wall.

“We… he didn’t lie!” A small quivering voice pipes up. Dream’s eyes widen, and he can see Esther clearly taken aback as both of them turn to George.  _ George _ , who rarely speaks up in class, who doesn’t defy teachers at all.  _ George _ , who usually keeps his head down and spends his time colouring instead of playing with the other kids (of course, before Dream came in).

George, who’s now speaking up against  _ Esther _ , out of all people. 

“What?”

“I… we did sleep.” George’s words are barely hearable, but he still manages to squeak them out as he avoids Esther’s burning gaze. A slight whimper escapes his throat when Esther points the ruler in his direction, and for once, she is wordless. 

“I- You- How  _ dare _ both of you lie to me!” She screeches, furious, catching the attention of their classmates. “Especially  _ you _ , George!”

“We didn’t lie!” Dream protests again. “George didn’t lie!”

“Both of you, to the office!” She roars, eyes wide with fury and hands shaking as she points to the room. “NOW!”

George has tears in his eyes as he walks towards the office, head hung low in shame. Dream stumbles to catch up to him, watching the other silently cry. Shoulders slumped, the both of them arrive at the office, the clicking of Esther’s heels behind them.

The door slams behind them. George jumps.

The ruler that she is holding is thrown onto the wooden table, clattering. Dream’s eyes follow the ruler as he watches the brown object slide across the table. 

“George, I am very disappointed in you,” Esther starts, and George is soon sobbing, tears flowing down his face freely as his hands are clasped behind his back. “I thought you were a good student. I cannot believe you had the audacity to  _ lie _ to me like that.” 

Dream watches in silence as George rubs his face furiously, biting on his lip as his friend’s body shakes from trying to hold in the crying. As Esther turns to him, he can feel her gaze harden. “As for  _ you _ , I knew you were a little troublemaker from day one. But to involve George in your little tricks?” Scoffing, she turns to the bookshelf that’s sitting on the side. “I have the perfect punishment for you.”

Dream’s eyes follow Esther’s movements as she picks out a few books and a single dictionary. “I will inform Miranda to separate the both of you from now on. You’re a bad influence on George. You two will not sit together.” Eyes widening, Dream and George look at each other. “And as for you, Dream…”

She points to the door. “Stand outside.”

Dream can feel George’s watery eyes on him as he moves to stand beside the door. Esther soon emerges from the office, books in her arms. George is carrying a singular book himself, helping Esther.

“Stretch out your arms.” 

Dream obeys, palms up as Esther starts piling books up on his arms. A whine leaves his mouth as another thick book is placed on top of the stack, the dictionary in between. His arms are starting to shake, his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip so hard that he can almost feel the skin break. Tears rushed to his eyes.

“You will stand here for half an hour.” Esther grins, George looking at the floor as Dream tries to balance the stack. “George, what will happen to him if he drops a book?”

George’s voice is barely a whisper. “He’d get caned and not get playtime.”

Dream’s starting to slouch, his fingers trying to tighten their grip on the books. Esther smiles and ruffles George’s hair. “Good boy. You better not drop the bibles, Dream. Or else God will be mad at you. And that’s the last thing you want.”

Gulping, Dream tries his best to not let tears fall. He brings the books closer to him, but Esther clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You can’t do that. Arms. Out.” She taps her finger on Dream’s right arm, and Dream feels his muscles start to sore a little. 

“I’m tired,” he whines, though he holds his arms out as he fumbles, almost dropping one of the books. He can see George stare at him. 

“This is what you get for talking back and  _ lying _ , Dream.”

“But I’m tired!”

Without a word, Esther turns to George. “Bring me another book.”

“No!”

“Two more books.”

Dream remains silent as George disappears into the office, appearing with two more relatively thinner books. Esther, though with a slight gaze of disappointment, still receives the books from George, thanking him.

To his horror, Esther stacks the both of them up. But before he can raise his voice, George shakes his head slightly, causing him to bite on his tongue. The tears finally run down his cheeks, weight almost too unbearable.

“George, I trust you to inform me when it’s thirty minutes later.” Esther smiles, turning to enter the office again. “Dream, remember: this is your punishment.”

She shuts the door.

Dream returns home with red, sore arms and lesser words. 

He barely speaks during dinner.

* * *

Despite circumstances, their bond is still strong.

Dream and George may not sit together during lessons, nor be allowed to eat together during meal times, but they’re always seen together during playtimes. If you ever walk past the kindergarten and squint just slightly, you will be able to see the two of them near the swings at times. 

If you don’t, well, you should check the treehouse.

They share a special kind of friendship, one where Dream isn’t afraid to stand up to anyone who dares to pick on George, one where George isn’t afraid to show his affections towards Dream in the form of hugs and pinkie promises. They share a special kind of bond, something that’s almost beautiful, something  _ rare _ that not anyone can have. 

They share a special kind of friendship, but alas, nothing lasts forever.

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to see updates regarding this, follow my twitter: @ISLE0FDREAM :)
> 
> or yell at me there idk


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